Season of Mists

you make autumn mist
taste like champagne

and turn winter rain
into the elixir of life itself

Sanober Khan

I missed my favourite season this year. This autumn, actually this whole year has been very busy. I cannot complain as it meant that I had amazing opportunities to show my work in several joint exhibitions, to meet many like minded people and share my experiences with them.

On one rare occasion a few weeks ago I managed to steal a couple of hours and thoroughly immerse myself in the autumnal atmosphere of our local park. It felt so good to put my boots on again, to walk through the silence of the mist, to be able to finally listen to my own thoughts, and to pick up the camera and press that shutter a few times to capture those precious moments of peace and quiet… before I had to rush back to the busy life in the city…

Once Upon an autumn day,
Colorful leaves began to fade
In the midst of a chilly, frosty air
As multitude of trees grew steadily bare.

Once upon an autumn day,
The whispering breeze was here to stay
Moving aimlessly through the countless trees
Scattering leaves with the greatest of ease.

Once upon an autumn day,
The leaves whirled freely in every way,
Until at last they came to rest
Finding a haven in which to nest.

Once upon an autumn day,
The trees were dormant, and the leaves lay
Waiting for the winter snow to fall
To quickly obscure them one and all.
Once Upon An Autumn Day

Joseph T. Renaldi

An absolute
Trees stand
up to their knees in
fog. The fog
slowly flows
cobwebs, the grass
leaning where deer
have looked for apples.
The woods
from brook to where
the top of the hill looks
over the fog, send up
not one bird.
So absolute, it is
no other than
happiness itself, a breathing
too quiet to hear.

Denise Levertov

Enveloped in fog,
Mind wipes and thus ignites
With bright inner light…

Mamta Agarwal

“A fog lay low on the forest floor covering the ground like a shroud. Still, she perceived an odd playfulness as the thick air tumbled leaves and dirt in its own quiet game, impishly fighting off the waking sun that tried to dispel it. The heavy air rolled like waves beneath her as she moved through the early morning, stirring up tendrils of the mist…”

Annie Jackson

No spring nor summer beauty hath such grace
As I have seen in one autumnal face.

John Donne